


Woebegone

by serenililly



Category: Block B, K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Post-Break Up, Reader-Insert, Short, Swearing, destruction of property
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 07:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17279465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenililly/pseuds/serenililly
Summary: It wasn't the break-up that had Yoongi beating down your door in the middle of the night. It was the pain of letting go.





	Woebegone

A heavy thud. Another. A muffled shout, then multiple muted beats. You exhaled as the curtain of sleep fell away from you, as another shout rang out behind walls and doors. You could still feel the warmth of Jihoon as he breathed softly against your neck, undisturbed by the sounds of violence echoing beyond the bedroom door.

Another shout dampened by drywall. And after a long pause, finally a slam as the fool remembered he still had a key and the door swung back on its hinges. As you remembered you’d never taken away the fool’s key.

“Mmm?" The warm body next to you stirred at last, oblivious as he pressed a sleepy kiss into the curve of your neck.

“He’s here,” you whispered, leaning away from his body and raising a finger to his lips before he could speak. It had already started, the destruction. The first time hurt the most because you’d spent days re-decorating your apartment after all his belongings were gone, rearranging things perfectly to try and start fresh.

This time he wouldn’t find as much to destroy. Even though he’d sent money through Taehyung, you hadn’t had the heart to replace a lot of things. But Yoongi wasn’t really after destroying your physical things anyway. He really only did this to destroy himself.

“Jihoon, stay here,” you said in a hushed voice.

“I-I’m coming with you. The crazy bastard might try to hurt you,” he replied groggily, still struggling to pull himself from the clutches of deep sleep as he pushed back the covers from his bare chest.

“Don’t,” you warned, sliding from the bed, grateful you were already dressed wearing his over-sized t-shirt. “You’ll just make it worse. He won’t hurt me. Just let me go talk to him and he’ll leave.”

It sounded like Yoongi had found every fragile thing you had left by the time you made it out of the bedroom door and through the hallway. Your living room was a mess, shattered vases, pillows strewn everywhere, debris from picture frames and knick-knacks scattered in the entryway. You could see broken bits of coffee mugs and upended silverware littering the kitchen floor. At least he hadn’t ripped the television from the wall this time.

You tiptoed gingerly to avoid getting cut by stray bits of decoration shrapnel, flipping on the light switch just at the end of the hall and flooding the living room with bright light. Your eyes met with another pair, deep-set into a face much paler than you remembered. He paused, fingers wrapped around a large, framed picture of you and your bandmates and you braced for its destruction. After a beat, he dropped it and it mercifully fell from his hands to the couch, the photo spared.

“Y/N…” he croaked and your heart sank. Even in his drunken rage, even when his body made him into a tornado of chaos, he said your name like he always did. Full of love and hope and longing. Stepping on any piece of stray glass would have been less painful.

In truth, some part of you knew he was coming. Taehyung had warned you early on in the evening that he was doing poorly, sending updates about your ex-boyfriend getting horribly drunk and cursing about you half the time they were at the bar. You could imagine it even, him brooding in the corner while his friends tried to be sympathetic, him taking shot after shot and shouting at no one in particular until the bar owners were forced to throw him out.

You wrapped your arms around your waist in an attempt to hold yourself together. “Should I assume you’re still angry? Or have you gotten it out of your system?”

Yoongi looked around at your apartment, the damage now bathed in light. He squinted and reached up, picking up an ebony toned cat figurine from a high shelf, a trinket you were pretty sure he’d bought for you, and dropped it at his feet. He looked more than satisfied at the crunch of porcelain as he crushed it under the sole of his shoe.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d say I’m still angry.” Despite how drunk he must have been, his voice was still clear, unnervingly so. His gaze was piercing when he returned it to you. “How about you? You angry yet?”

“You mean, am I angry that you’ve broken into my apartment and destroyed half my belongings? Twice,” you responded flatly.

Yoongi’s face didn’t belie his disappointment in your indifferent tone. He sniffed and shoved his hands into his pockets, his signature admission of guilt.

“You’ve done worse,” he bit back, words slurring a little. “Is he here?”

“Yoongi, this isn’t healthy behavior,” you tried instead, ignoring his question.

“No, what’s not healthy behavior is throwing your boyfriend of two years out of this apartment and then jumping onto some other guy’s cock two weeks later.”

The words hit you like bullets, ripping through your chest as if you were made of paper. But you wouldn’t let it show.

“And that gives you the right to destroy everything I own? To show up in the middle of the night and terrorize my home like an angsty teenager?” You’d had enough. He needed help and you needed him gone. “I’m calling the police. You’ll be lucky if my neighbors haven’t already.”

Your phone still sat on your bedside table, but Jihoon’s phone was still charging on the kitchen counter. You carefully made your barefoot way across the room towards it. But Yoongi was faster, shoes crunching across the broken shards of your belongings as he hurried to you. You picked up the phone and his hand was around your wrist a moment later.

“No,” he breathed and you could smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Stop,” you whined and a scuffle ensued as you struggled to get away from him while he pressed you back against the wall at the kitchen’s entrance. He pried the phone from your fingers and tossed it behind him, sending it clattering to the kitchen floor amongst the spoons and broken plates.

“Yoongi!” you shouted in frustration as he held your wrists and wouldn’t let go. “Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

“Get the fuck out of my head,” he shouted back and you froze, confused by his words, still stuck in his grip.

“Why?” A bemoaned cry cracked his voice and you realized he was crying. Pinned against the wall, you weren’t really trapped by his hands, but his emotions, spilling out onto his cheeks, teary eyes boring into you. Everything you’d done came rushing back. You felt like shit. You were shit.

“Why do I still love you?” His eyes searched yours as if the answers lied somewhere beyond. “Why do I still smell you on all my clothes? Why do I still want to call you every day? Why do I still reach for you next to me every morning?”

“Yoongi…”

“I still love you.” There was an awkward pause after those words and you knew he was giving you yet another chance to say it back to him, to tell him the words he craved with choking desperation to hear. You said nothing.

“I hate you for that,” he said.

Some days you hated yourself too. For having to tell someone like him that they were good enough, but not enough for you. For forcing him to leave when he wanted so badly to hold on, begged you to just let him fix whatever had gone wrong between you.

But you couldn’t force your heart to love someone. And your heart, as much as you wished it did, no longer loved the drunk, broken man holding you hostage against your kitchen wall.

The apartment was quiet, save for his subtle sniffling. You couldn’t look at him, eyes closed in a pathetic attempt to shield yourself from the emotional assault.

“Do you love him?” his low voice questioned, more bullets forcing you to open your eyes.

“What?”

“Do you love him?” You pushed against him and he finally let go of your wrists, taking a step back, but still eyeing you with that heavy stare.

“That's not really any of your business-”

“Y/N…”

Your jaw clenched.

“No,” you admitted. “I like him.”

“Good,” he sniffed. “It's easier if I'm the only one still in love.”

Yoongi turned and made his way to the front door and you followed him because it felt like the right thing to do. Because you felt like this wouldn’t be the last time you had to say goodbye to him. Because it felt like you owed him this much until he could let go.

“I’ll pay,” he said, swallowing back the rest of his tears and looking at the floor. “I’ll pay for everything again. But I’m not sorry.”

“I know,” you nodded. He looked up at you with such duality, the love he clung to, the hatred that seared through it, both battling in the bleary brown of his eyes. And you knew deserved the sharp pain in your chest that gaze caused, so you accepted it.

And then you felt it. His anger flare, an almost visible lick of flame erupting from his shoulders and your hands were pushing against his chest, using all your strength to shove him back through the threshold of the doorway and keep him from pressing forward.

“Jihoon, I told you to stay in there,” you shouted, knowing he must have been in the hall, that Yoongi must have seen him.

“You smug son of a bitch! I’ll fucking end you!” Yoongi was snarling, face already red as strings of expletives ripped from his mouth.

“You’re fucking crazy!” you heard Jihoon shout.

And a moment later, as Yoongi pushed you so he could rush down the hall and you landed on your back, broken shards of your home already biting into your legs and hands, you thought maybe you deserved that too.

As you succumbed to the shock of your head hitting the tiles, the harried voices and sounds of brawling around you fading to nothing, you thought maybe you deserved it all. That your stupid, traitor heart deserved to be cut into a million tiny pieces.


End file.
